Overture
by MerkinViolet
Summary: He knows this is all a chess game; so does she. Reaver/Queen One-Shot


The next petitioner was called into court and in walked a tall, slender man with a cane, a top hat, and a devastating smirk. The beams of noon's harsh sunlight filtered through the windows and glinted off the jeweled buttons of his rather festive-looking coat. From her throne, the queen sighed and took a brief second to steady her nerves. This man's mere presence was enough to send her skittering over the edge today. He had a nefarious knack for showing up at precisely the worst time.

"Reaver," she called to him, her calm, regal voice sounding clearly down the aisle.

He paused midway down to her and, with a flourish unique to his decadent nature, whipped off his top hat and bowed. "Your majesty."

Once he'd replaced his hat and reached the bottom of the dais upon which her throne sat, she gestured somewhat boredly in his vague direction. "Please state your business."

Reaver leaned slightly against his cane, both gloved hands grasping it steadily. "Oh, my dear Queen Alana, must we be so formal?" The smirk became a lascivious grin for a moment.

Off to the side, Alana caught a glimpse of a guard fidgeting, looking as though he wanted to step forward. No doubt Reaver's lack of protocol was the impetus. It was all a light show, however, a technique the man employed to throw a person off his guard.

Alana raised a disdainful eyebrow, but otherwise kept her features smooth, straight, responding with, "My docket is rather full today, Reaver."

He tilted his head momentarily in charming acquiescence. "Of course, of course. Well, I wouldn't want to keep Albion from her dear queen, so I shall make this quick."

She barely suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. His pleased expression flared almost imperceptibly into delight before he went on.

"As you are fully aware, Bowerstone's Old Market is in shambles following… recent events."

The glare on Alana's face was one of warning—and, graceful as ever, Reaver continued without further reference.

"My accountant has advised me that the cost of its restoration will far outweigh any economic or nostalgic benefit rendered. I had the projections drawn up." Here he pulled some papers from the inside of his coat and held them out. The closest guard—the captain, in fact—gingerly accepted them with a disapproving frown. After brief examination to ensure they were, in fact, just documents, he passed them to his queen with a stoic nod.

"Thank you, Jembry," Alana murmured, granting the normally impassive guard a small smile. He allowed one in return, surprising her. Perhaps her stress was more visible than she thought. Even the employees were offering what paltry support they could.

Placidly, Alana flipped through the financial analysis, the jumble of numbers and unfamiliar vocabulary not making much impact upon her. It was with a thoroughly unimpressed demeanor that she held the documents out to whomever stood nearest and pronounced, "I shall have my advisors peruse these as soon as possible."

Someone relieved her of the papers and her hands returned to their proper resting place upon her lap. "Please, continue. I assume your accountant did not make these calculations on a whim."

Reaver wasn't worried by her polite sass, it seemed, and his smirk held. "Indeed, your majesty. Once your advisors review the numbers and attest to their accuracy, as I'm sure they will, I propose a solution be implemented that will be to our mutual satisfaction. Allow me to purchase the land. From the ruins of that squalid place that once passed for a market I can expand Bowerstone Industries and increase output and productivity exponentially. The expansion will also herald the creation of several thousand new jobs, which I'm sure would please you and your more… charitable inclinations. Not to mention the obvious economic boon."

"And where shall its displaced residents be relocated?"

"They will receive priority offers of employment at the new factories, which includes housing, and, if they find that not to their tastes, I have a realtor standing by to aid them in finding affordable residence. At no charge to them, of course."

Then Reaver winked, breaking the hypnotic spell of his pitch, and Alana found herself blinking her way back into reality. He was good, very good, and she wished her brother were in attendance today. He possessed a shrewd ability to keep his head in any interaction with Reaver, while Alana was often left blindsided by Reaver's smooth talk and captivating aura. This was such a time. The offer sounded reasonable, and that was the red flag. _Nothing_ in which Reaver involved himself was reasonable. His selfishness wouldn't allow it.

With a neutral nod of her head, the queen stated, "I am… interested, Reaver. Please speak with my steward. Kevren will be able to schedule a meeting for you with me and my council in the near future. You may make your full proposal then."

Swiftly, the man bowed, and when he looked up, there was a gleam in his eyes that had not been present before. The pencil-heart near his eye seemed even more prominent as he spoke. "I am pleased to hear of your _interest_ , your majesty." His emphasis on that word send chills down her spine. "You have my gratitude for your consideration." At this he softly nipped his lower lip, and the gleam was now clearly suggestive in nature.

The captain of the guard shifted noisily and nodded toward a couple of his men to prepare to escort Reaver as he departed. Before they could move, however, Reaver lifted a hand to halt them.

"There is just one other, very small matter that requires your attention, my queen."

Against her better judgment, Alana indicated her allowance. Now Reaver straightened, his handsome features rearranging themselves into an enthusiastic expression. His eyes practically twinkled.

"It occurred to me somewhat recently that there has yet to be any celebratory acknowledgement of your crowning. I would like to organize a small gathering in your honor, to be held at my home sometime next week." After a small pause, he reluctantly added, "By your leave, of course."

Alana's initial impulse was to refuse. After all, she was very busy and celebrating an event she considered to be a tragedy was not high on her list of things to do. It wasn't as if she'd wanted the crown—a part of her was still hoping to find a way to get Logan back on the throne somehow, someday. But Reaver read her mind and was quite efficient at making his invitation unrefuseable.

"Several nobles have made it known that it would be a tremendous honor for them as well. They would like to congratulate their queen in person, you see, and get to know the ruler with whom they've yet to form a relationship." _This is good PR_ , he was saying. _You know you need that_.

It was true that she had yet to formally greet any of the nobility in acknowledgement of her newly bestowed crown. This horrid lapse in protocol had so far been explained away by the circumstances regarding her rulership—namely, the deposing of her brother and the looming Darkness. But nobles reveled in frivolity, and her country was founded on their money and patronage. So, dues were to be paid, and Reaver was offering her that on a silver platter.

Before the suspicious voice in the back of her mind got too loud, she said, "I would be pleased to attend such an event. Please leave the details with Kevren." Then Alana stood, having had quite enough for the day. Reaver was emotionally and physically draining. He spun his wiles at a price—always someone else's.

Looking at Jembry, she announced, "Court is dismissed," and stepped down from the dais. Reaver took a respectful few steps to the side as she passed, skirts swishing over the marble floor.

"Good afternoon, your majesty. I look forward to our next meeting."

Alana met his stare and felt her pulse pick up at the sound of his dark voice so close. It promised things, naughty, delicious things. His face said _you won't regret it_. But before hypnosis could again set in, Jembry cleared his throat and the queen was still moving toward the door, her eyes now trained upon their wooden carvings, intricate designs set in rich mahogany.

She wondered what Reaver was really offering.

Whatever it was, whatever his long-term goals and games and nonsense, there was one thing of which Alana was absolutely sure: she had to tread lightly. Reaver was a trap, a hurricane—and she didn't want to be his next victim.


End file.
